


What Happens in Room 4

by Wolf_of_Lilacs



Series: Penance [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (Reluctantly) Consensual, Age Difference, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, d/s dynamics, rosary cock bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 13:31:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18165836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolf_of_Lilacs/pseuds/Wolf_of_Lilacs
Summary: There are confessions. It's a fine evening, as these things go.





	What Happens in Room 4

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for (artificial) religious guilt and improper use of a rosary.
> 
> They have a standing arrangement, and context will be given in later works.

Tom pushed open the door to the Hog’s Head, the musky scent of goats swamping him. He wrinkled his nose and went inside with much reluctance.

“He’s upstairs,” Aberforth grunted, peering at him through a tangle of silver-tinged auburn hair. “Been waiting for too long.”

“How long is that?” Tom asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Five goddamn minutes. Get up there. The sooner he’s out of here, the happier I’ll be.” He went back to consulting a grubby list of…something that Tom couldn’t see. Contraband liquor? Possibly other things he couldn’t begin to guess at—and wouldn’t want to.

Tom knocked with three sharp taps at the door of Room 4. The professor opened almost immediately, his hat discarded, his expression quite untroubled. “I bit late, tom,” he chided.

“Five minutes,” Tom replied mildly. “Quite punctual.” He swept past Dumbledore. The door closed behind him with a snap. “Let’s get on with whatever this is, if you please.”

Dumbledore smiled with typical indulgence, peering over the top of his spectacles, his eyes pinning Tom in place. “There are many things I can teach you tonight, Tom, but I wonder if we might start with a lesson you began as a child, which you have not yet, perhaps, finished.”

“I have no idea what you mean, sir.” 

Dumbledore stroked his beard—auburn tinged with silver, as Aberforth’s was, but free of tangles. “Is that so?”

Tom remembered Father Byrne, clucking his tongue every time Tom was sent to him. _We need to help you free yourself of the devil that resides in you, boy_ , he’d say. His prescription was always the same. Tom cringed at the memory.

Tom felt the phantom weight of the rosary heavy about his neck that he did not wear. Not anymore. He had given it as a parting gift to Amy Benson, a gift she could not refuse. He wondered what had become of it now, if she’d been allowed to keep it, if she’d cried when they’d taken it away. He hoped she had; he’d put enough magic into it.

“You are of unparalleled intelligence, Tom.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. His tone was mild, but his expression was sharp. “Extra credit to you when you give me an answer, hmm?”

This _had_ been a terrible idea. “I’m no longer your student.”

“True, but old habits are difficult to break, Tom, and it’s only been a couple months since you last graced my classroom.”

Tom glanced at the door back into the corridor.

“We won’t be disturbed. Aberforth knows when to give me privacy.”

“Then let’s get this over with,” Tom bit out, his hand drifting lethargically to unfasten his robes, then to unbutton his fly.

“Allow me the honor. It’s the least I can do.” Dumbledore approached and finished Tom’s buttons, his fingers dry and gentle against Tom’s skin. Tom wanted to brush him away, but refrained, perhaps out of curiosity more than anything.

Dumbledore stepped back to admire his work. Tom shifted uncomfortably, the warmth of the fire in the grate and Dumbledore’s gaze causing his cock to twitch. Dumbledore conjured a rosary and dropped it into Tom’s upturned palm with a clatter. “I wonder,” he began, “if we might try something.”

“Oh, good. I can’t wait.” Tom’s voice was dry.

Dumbledore clucked his tongue. “You’ll enjoy this, Tom. Don’t be such a skeptic. Now, my knowledge of each decade isn’t quite what yours is, therefore I’d like you to teach me. But I’ll make it fun for you.”

Tom gritted his teeth, hist clenching hard enough to cause the crucifix to dig painfully into his palm. “I don’t remember any of them,” he said.

“Really?” Dumbledore frowned in disappointment. “I wondered if that would be your excuse, so I brought the text of them with me.” He nodded over to the side table, laden with parchments.

Of course he had, ever attentive to detail as he was. “Ah, they’re coming back to me. I don’t believe I need your texts.”

“Wonderful.” Dumbledore clapped his hands together once. “Then shall we begin?”

Tom nodded, sighing, unclenching his hand from around the beads. The cross had left a noticeable red mark on his palm. “How would you like me, sir?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“Finish taking off those robes of yours, for a start,” Dumbledore mused. “They do get in the way, don’t you think?”

Tom snorted and shrugged free of the unfastened robe. This particular robe had been a gift from Abraxas, and nice as it was—all black with gold brocade and hints of green at the cuffs—Tom hated it. He tossed it behind him without any hesitation.

“And those Muggle clothes underneath, to do the thing properly.” Dumbledore gave a quick, downward motion with his left hand, and Tom let his trousers fall to the dusty floor, tangling about his feet. He stepped out of them and kicked them into a pile with the robe.

Dumbledore patted his knee in invitation. “Why don’t we start with a bit of confessing, hmm? We need to know what sort of penance you ought to pay.”

“I’d rather sit on the floor, sir,” Tom spat. He could feel traitorous arousal. He dared not glance down to see the evidence of it.

“Then sit at my feet, if you must.” Dumbledore’s eyes sharpened in interest. He had no qualms about carefully studying the evidence of Tom’s arousal whatsoever.

Tom sat between Dumbledore’s feet, drawing his knees up and spreading them apart. “What sins of mine do you care to hear first? How I killed the man who sired me? Turned an old man’s mind?”

“Oh dear, both of those sound quite dreadful. Please, tell me more.”

Tom smirked. “I stole my uncle’s wand and made him think he was the one to kill my father. He’s in Azkaban for it.”

Despite their prior agreement, Dumbledore’s face registered horrified surprise. “What should your prescription be?”

“A couple Hail Marys?”

“That’s all?” Dumbledore rested a hand on top of Tom’s head, fingers carding through his hair almost tenderly. “Why don’t you start with The Lord’s Prayer; skip the Creed for now. Count with your right hand, and with your left, I would like you to take your length and give yourself a stroke or two for each prayer. I do want to make this enjoyable for you, you know.”

“Right.” Tom tossed the rosary into Dumbledore’s lap, and Dumbledore obligingly dropped it around Tom’s neck, the cross coming to rest at his heart. Tom licked his lips—in anticipation, or something like it. He raised his right hand to start the first decade. “Might I have some lubricant, sir? It will make things easier.”

“You may.” Dumbledore took tom’s proffered left hand and conjured an absurd amount of what smelled like olive oil into his palm. “I’m short on holy water, so that will have to do.”

Tom took himself in hand and began to murmur the first lines of the Lord’s Prayer. As he went, Dumbledore kept a hand on his head, occasionally petting him and giving faint murmurs of approval.

“Slow your strokes a little,” Dumbledore said after a moment and rising to his feet to stand in front of him. Tom had not yet given any evidence of leaking pre-come. “Look up at me. Continue praying.” Tom tipped his head back, uncertain of what…

Ah. Dumbledore had unfastened the waist of his own robes and taken out his own cock. From his position, Tom couldn’t see too much of it, only the swollen, ruddy tip. His mouth watered at the sight, and he felt a more acute heat…

“That seems to have helped nicely,” Dumbledore hummed in satisfaction. “Now, continue.”

“Hail Mary, full of gr—” Tom stumbled at the first of the Hail Marys as his peak approached. Dumbledore raised his wand and cast something that lengthened the rosary’s chain so that it now wrapped about the base of Tom’s cock, halting the progress of his orgasm in its tracks.

“Start over. I know you’re a perfectionist, dear boy. Mistakes just won’t do.”

The extension of the rosary made it so that Tom had to curl in on himself. He bared his teeth, but began the decade again. “…pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.” As he made it successfully past his previous stumble, he heard Dumbledore whisper a spell, then felt…

Filled up. Much to his relief, the rosary eased off his cock. Whatever Dumbledore had conjured moved in and out of his hole with teasing, horrific slowness, and any hope of finishing the decade without another slip-up faded in involuntary moan as Tom spilled into his hand. He felt as much as heard Dumbledore find his own release, —his hand tightening involuntarily in Tom’s hair—and felt the warm spatter of it upon his face.

“If I may ruin you, then you may ruin me,” Dumbledore said, stepping back. “I strive for equanimity between myself and my lovers.”

Tom’s lips trembled as he hissed the last prayer of the decade, and he collapsed bonelessly to lean against Dumbledore’s legs. Dumbledore drew him to his feet, settled him on his lap, embracing him. “Do you have another in you?” he murmured, gently pushing Tom’s hand away from his cock and settling his own, warm hand in its place.

“I don’t know.” He did not think so. This really had been a mistake…

“There are all manner of spells, you know.” Dumbledore raised his wand again. “Blame the need to take the edge off after a long day’s spell crafting.” He cast, and Tom came again, spattering over Dumbledore’s royal blue robes. Tom whimpered with the pain of it.

“Very good, my boy. Do you feel” —he winked—“cleansed?”

“No.” Tom removed the rosary and tossed it onto the side table.

“What do you feel, then?” Dumbledore wiped his come from Tom’s skin with a monogrammed handkerchief, his expression kind.

“Deeply dissatisfied.” Lies.

“You would say ‘no’ to a second meeting?” Dumbledore cast a series of cleaning spells over both of them, the fresh scent of pine permeating the room.

Tom grimaced. “I expect I’ve plenty more to confess,” he said. He dressed, turning his back to Dumbledore.

“I don’t doubt it, my boy.”


End file.
